


Why Aziraphale Is Not Allowed Around the Plants Anymore

by quantumducky



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, i'm so glad the plants have their own character tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: Crowley asks Aziraphale to water the houseplants for him while he's out of town. He really should have known better, all things considered.





	Why Aziraphale Is Not Allowed Around the Plants Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> i was in this fandom for years but like, chill about it, and then the amazon prime series happened and suddenly i had 3 different fic ideas at once

“Angel,” Crowley greeted as soon as Aziraphale picked up the phone. “Mind doing me a favor?”

Aziraphale was naturally wary of such a vague question. “That depends,” he said, “on what kind of favor it is.” Many of Crowley’s requests were perfectly reasonable, but he had to watch out for the occasional “you know holy water, the thing that would destroy me permanently if I touched it, yes, that, could I have some please” or “will you run away to another galaxy with me to avoid Armageddon.” He just never knew.

Fortunately, this time, it was a reasonable one. “I’m going out of town for a week,” Crowley explained. “Just need someone to water the plants while I’m gone.”

“Oh, well, certainly, I can do that!”

“Great.” He could hear the demon smiling through the phone- not the self-satisfied one he got when he’d done a particularly good… er, _bad_ job, but a pleased and surprisingly open smile associated mainly with talking to a certain angel. “If you could just pop over before I leave tomorrow, I’ll show you what to do.”

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale could count on one hand the number of times he’d been in Crowley’s flat before. He was never quite comfortable there- it felt familiar in a way he couldn’t explain and didn’t very much like. He chose to blame this fact for the tension he felt while listening to Crowley explain the proper amount and frequency of waterings, rather than admit the other, less rational possibility he was considering: it felt as though the plants were watching him. But they couldn’t do that, right? Due to their having no eyes and all? But then again, these ones belonged to Crowley, he might have given them sentience or some other ridiculous thing. Maybe even without intending to. He never had been very careful about his… whatever the demonic version of miracles were called.

“Is there anything else I should know? I mean, do you do anything special with them?” he asked, shaking himself out of his thoughts at the end of the explanation. He was afraid he hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to any of it. “And, uh- would you mind terribly writing all that down?”

“Oh, not really,” Crowley assured him. “Well, I sort of talk to them, but you don’t need to worry about that. All you need to do is water them and they’ll stay nice and green.” While fumbling for a paper and pen to write down the care instructions, he added something under his breath about how they wouldn’t dare do otherwise. The angel didn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

When Aziraphale went over the next day, the strange feeling was still there. Probably because it was weird to be in Crowley’s flat with no Crowley present. He tried to shake it off and busied himself locating the spray bottle.

When he started to actually water the plants, however, his discomfort only increased, and he couldn’t take any more of the quiet. Crowley had said he needn’t worry about talking to the plants, but surely he wouldn’t _mind_ if he did, right? Anyway, it was supposed to be good for them, he’d read that somewhere once.

“Hello,” he told them. “Crowley has left for the week, so I’ll be taking care of you until he comes back.” Leaves rustled around the room as he mentioned Crowley- that was odd, he hadn’t felt a draft. “I’m a… friend of his. Er- my name is Aziraphale, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He stopped himself just short of attempting to shake hands with a fern, and carried on watering for a minute in slightly embarrassed silence. Of course, there was no point feeling embarrassed of something no one else had seen, but as an angel he was well aware that God was always watching, and She probably thought that had been quite silly of him.

Fortunately- or perhaps not, depending on your perspective- Aziraphale had built up an immunity to embarrassment over the millennia, and recovered quickly. He went back to talking, half to the plants and half to himself, only this time the more normal sort of things to say to a plant: wondering if he’d given them the right amount of water, cooing about how nice they looked, that sort of thing. He couldn’t have been expected to know how much that would confuse them.

When he was finished, he resisted the rather unangelic temptation to have a look around at Crowley’s belongings, and instead went home and called him. You know, just to check in and make sure everything was going well. (It certainly didn’t have anything to do with missing him.) The demon picked up on the second ring, and asked about his plants before Aziraphale could get past the pleasantries in order to tell him unprompted.

“Behaving for you, are they? No unexpected issues?”

Aziraphale decided not to mention his strange feeling. Crowley had never been able to grasp the concept of the heebie-jeebies. “I haven’t had any trouble so far,” he confirmed. “In fact, I was just over to water them, and they looked perfectly healthy.”

“Good,” he said, and then quieter, “I should hope so.”

“Yes… I watered them and talked to them a little- I know you said I didn’t need to, but it does make things more comfortable. You know, being alone in someone else’s home and all.”

Crowley’s voice, mysteriously, took on a bit of that tone he used when he was trying not to groan out loud. “What did you say to them, angel?”

“Oh- nonsense mostly. I told them where you’ve gone, just in case you hadn’t, and… well, it was a bit like talking to a baby after that. Or a cat. Or anything else that can’t actually understand you. _Oh, look at those pretty leaves,_ sort of thing. Erm… why does it matter?”

He sighed audibly. “Should’ve known you would go and be nice to them.”

“…Pardon?”

“When I told you I talk to the plants, you didn’t honestly think I was telling them about my day, did you? There’s a reason they’re the most beautiful houseplants in all London, angel, it’s because I put the fear of- well, of _me_ into them. If any of them starts underperforming, I take it out and bring back the empty pot as a warning. I don’t expect _you_ to do any of that, of course, but for Someone’s sake don’t baby-talk them!”

Aziraphale blinked, processing Crowley’s… unorthodox gardening techniques. “My dear, you don’t actually _kill-?”_

“Of course not,” he said, with a wave of his hand the angel couldn’t actually see. “Be a waste of a plant, someone at some point probably paid good money for them. But they’ve got to _think_ I do, see? Or else they’ll start slacking off.”

“I see.” He tried to keep the amusement from his voice, but not very hard, and with very little success. “I’ll try not to baby-talk them anymore.”

“Good.” Crowley still sounded disgruntled, but then Aziraphale asked about how things were going and he was off on a different subject, complaining about the subpar hotel he had ended up in. The plants were all but forgotten until the next day.

 

* * *

 

If some hypothetical, omniscient observer had been listening in on Aziraphale and Crowley’s phone conversation, they might have noticed that the angel said nothing about not talking to the plants anymore _period,_ or even about not being nice to them. This, one could easily guess, had been intentional. He couldn’t just stand by and let innocent plants be terrorized, after all.* Even if he didn’t quite believe it was _possible_ to intimidate a plant into growing better. An animal, that might work on, because they had brains and such to be intimidated _with,_ but plants? He was fairly sure Crowley was just being overdramatic again, and/or refused to admit they were growing well simply because he took very good care of them. Couldn’t go admitting his plants thrived because he’d carefully nurtured them, heaven forbid.

And so he found himself talking to the plants again the next day, in no small part because he knew it would annoy Crowley if he found out.

“He was annoyed with me last night for talking to you all like babies,” he informed them. The plants shivered at the prospect of Crowley being annoyed. “He thinks I’m going to ruin his threatening image, or something like that. The whole thing is very silly in my opinion. I mean, he wouldn’t ever really _hurt_ any of you. Well, unless emotional damage applies here, but I don’t think it does.”

The plants, despite staying perfectly still and quiet, managed to have an air of disbelief.

“Really,” he insisted, “he told me- look, I’ll be right back.” With that, he went and started looking through the other rooms, never mind all that about not invading Crowley’s privacy. He’d never exactly told him _not_ to go anywhere he pleased, so really it was his own fault if he didn’t like it. Thanks to the general emptiness of the place, it didn’t take long to find the _other_ plant room, the one where any plant deemed imperfect ended up after Crowley had pretended to kill it.** He picked one up at random and carried it out.

“See?” He held up the plant, slightly yellowed leaves and all. “He’s only messing with you, they’re all fine.” After a moment, he remembered that they were hardly going to say anything in response no matter how long he stood there, and went and put it back where he’d found it. It may have been his imagination- more likely than anything else, really- but the plants seemed more at ease with him after that.

 

* * *

 

*Aziraphale may have felt differently if he’d been able to understand the plants’ language, which, despite what he thought, they did indeed have. Some of them had very rude things to say about his fashion sense, but to him it was no more than a vague rustling of leaves. This was probably for the best for everyone involved.

**Not _every_ plant he’d ever taken away was still here, of course. Some of them had been sold to humans once they were healthy again, mainly because Crowley found a certain joy in vastly overcharging for things that could, on the whole, be found in the dirt outside with a bit of effort. It was like making people pay for water- the concept of which had, incidentally, been one of his inventions.

 

* * *

 

“Honestly, it’s surprising he was able to keep this up so long,” Aziraphale commented on his third day watering the plants. They liked him now, he felt, as much as it was possible to ascertain such a thing. They appeared to lean toward him when he was nearby, and he obligingly stroked their leaves and told them they were doing well. None of this was mentioned to Crowley, obviously; all Aziraphale had told him was that everything was still going just fine, no need to worry. “I mean, all the…” He made a small, dismissive hand gesture to indicate Crowley’s theatrics. “It’s so far from his real self. He’s not all that bad, deep down, no matter what he tells people. There was this time… well, it’s a long story.”

The plants did their best to give off an aura of listening intently, as if to say, “no, please, go on.”

He smiled. “Then again, I suppose you don’t exactly have anywhere to be, do you? Oh, let’s see, starting from the beginning- or rather, the Beginning- I always suspected there was something different about him, you know…”*

Over the next few days, Crowley’s houseplants were treated to Aziraphale recounting the entire history of their friendship, with a particular focus on those moments of kindness the demon always got annoyed with him for bringing up. It was quite a different perspective on him than they’d ever heard before. Eye-opening, one might say, except that of course none of them had any to speak of.

 

* * *

 

*Aziraphale began nearly all his anecdotes in this way. Whether or not the incident being recounted actually involved Crowley was largely irrelevant.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the week, Crowley was more than ready to come home. For one thing, it was tiring, being in an unfamiliar place dealing with unpleasant people,* and for another, he knew it would take more work to whip his houseplants back into shape the longer he was gone. He expected Aziraphale had been far too soft on them in his absence, no matter what he’d said over the phone, and he expected he’d have to spend a good half-hour shouting at them to undo the damage.

He did not, however, go quite so far as to expect the scene that greeted him when he walked into his flat.

Aziraphale was sitting in front of the plants in a tacky-but-comfortable chair Crowley didn’t remember owning, the spray bottle forgotten at his feet. He was mid-sentence, leaning forward as if telling them a secret, and when Crowley opened the door he turned around with a smile far too innocent to be believed.**

“Crowley! I wasn’t expecting you back until later- not that I’m not happy to see you, of course!”

“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously, in lieu of an actual greeting.

“Oh, you know, I’d like to think we’ve been bonding while you were gone, and I’ve just been telling them about that time in the 16th century when you-”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley hissed, although to be completely honest he wasn’t sure _which_ time exactly the angel was referring to. A lot had happened that century. Much of it had been mildly embarrassing. “Right, story time’s over- where did you even get that chair, it’s awful- see if I ever ask _you_ for a favor again.”

He prodded at Aziraphale until he was out of the room and then rounded on the plants. “And as for _you_ lot! I suppose you thought you’d get away with things while I was gone, eh? Well, I’m back, so you’d better- what are you laughing at?!” It occurred to him very suddenly that, while the plants _were_ shaking in his presence as usual, it wasn’t from the customary fear so much as badly-suppressed amusement. “Shut it, or I’ll have you all for mulch!”

“Crowley, dear,” said Aziraphale mildly, poking his head back in, “they’re plants. I don’t believe they have the right equipment, as it were, for laughing. Are you feeling alright?”

“What have you been _telling_ them?” Crowley demanded, making no attempt to sound any less unhinged.

“Well, I- I just didn’t think it was _right,_ letting you scare the poor things like that. I only told them the truth,” he said primly. It wasn’t quite an admission, because that would imply any sort of shame on his part.

Despite himself, it was difficult to stay very angry with Aziraphale over something relatively small, especially when the angel had, technically speaking, done something nice for him. “You couldn’t have told them a _different_ truth,” he complained nonetheless. “Something, you know, demonic. Like the thing with the M25, that was good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He took Crowley by the elbow and started pulling him into the kitchen, saying something under his breath about a nice hot drink to relax him.

“Next- there isn’t going to _be_ a next time,” he cried, “I’m not letting you _near_ my plants after that stunt! They’ll never fear me again, I’m going to have to start all over with new ones!”

Aziraphale just hummed, infuriatingly unbothered as he set about boiling water. “If you say so, dear.”

Crowley, now sprawling as best he could in one of his uncomfortable kitchen chairs, threw his hands in the air*** and gave up. There was no winning.

 

* * *

 

*Whether he’d made them that way by deliberately making everything needlessly irritating was beside the point.

**He always looked like that, actually, to some extent- it sort of came with the territory- but Crowley knew the difference.

***The gesture couldn’t have been for Aziraphale’s benefit, since he was facing the other direction, and the plants were all the way in the other room. Crowley chose not to worry too much about who exactly, then, he _had_ intended it for.


End file.
